


Faster Than an AK-47

by justanotherStonyfan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Masturbation, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 21:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6874138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Rocio - Steve tries a vibrator for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faster Than an AK-47

He doesn't really anticipate how loud the thing is going to be. Batteries are something he didn't have to deal with for much of his life and, even though he's not too stupid to figure out where the plus and the minus are, it's still a shock when the thing springs to life because, come on, nobody said he'd have to remove a tiny tadpole-shaped tab of white plastic, and he was already preparing himself to be vaguely disappointed by the notion of something that's meant to be good not-working without even the first attempt.

So when he figures it out and removes the tab, the first thing that happens is he's surprised, and he loses his grip so the thing clatters onto the table and vibrates itself across the wooden tabletop with a noise like a chainsaw.

He snatches it up and turns it off and hides his head in his arms because he's alone but it doesn't stop the embarrassment. Thank God nobody was here to see it

He puts it back into the box, carefully reinserting the little plastic tab before he does, takes the box to the bedroom and sets it on the bed, and then he goes to have a cup of coffee to calm down a little, heart hammering in his chest.

Nobody heard, that's ridiculous. 

~

When he goes back, it's a little while after his cup of coffee. He's taken a shower. He's clean and fresh and not really able to believe he's doing this but the doors and windows are locked, the alarm system's engaged, and the only thing he really has to worry about is whether or not he enjoys this.

He knows he's _supposed_ to, but that doesn't necessarily mean that he will.

He goes and sits down on the bed and takes the thing out and puts the box...he tucks the box into the cupboard built into the nightstand because it's gaudy and flowery and badly not-quite censored, and it's so top-shelf-rag he's embarrassed for himself the people on the front who appear to be pretending to have a great time.

He doesn't need to try and turn himself on because he's been thinking about this for a long time now, and he's interested enough. What _is_ out of place is his nerves.

This is something he looked into a while back, spent a while poring over on the internet, and has been thinking about ever since. He ordered, and received a small package in brown paper with his first initial and last name, and he knows that nobody could have known what it was but he's nervous about it (the mailman held it, it went through a sorting office, somebody packed this, somebody _manufactured_ it).

He sits on the bed. 

He breathes.

He takes the little plastic tab out and sets it on the nightstand because he plans on putting it back. It's the best failsafe other than taking the batteries out, and he doesn't want to do that because, if this thing is everything it's cracked up be, he'll be using it on the regular.

He tries not to picture that.

He can do this, he can totally handle this. It's fine.

There's no way anybody can hear him.

He turns the thing on and holds it in his hand. It's only making small noise at him and he turns it over and has a look at what it's doing, and then he transfers it to his other hand to find that his fingertips have gone fuzzy – like when they go to sleep but a little bit more...tingly?

He can't really quantify this, but that's fine because he's not writing a paper, he's just jerking off. Or...buzzing off? He's not sure what you call it when it's a vibrator doing the 'getting' part of 'getting off,' but whatever it's called, that's what he's doing.

And there's a thrill about it too – if the internet is to be believed (sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't,) these things are either not much good or completely mind-blowing. Steve's hoping it's the second and looking forward to finding out.

He runs the side of it up his forearm and back to feel the way the vibrations move through him, and finds that it is something he can feel the presence of in his wrist, his elbow. It's small but it's powerful enough that, for his forearm at least, he can tell it's got some strength behind it.

He tries it on his collarbones because, if it works on his forearm, it'll work there, and he can feel the hollow buzz of it in the middle of his chest, over his heart, where his breastbone sits. It feels different – he can feel it all the way inside his chest cavity.

It's not that much of a leap to try elsewhere – it does feel nice. Steve knows Clint has a massager that's _actually for massages_ that's similar in construction to this, so he knows it doesn't have to be sexual to be good. 

Still though, he'd kind of like to come at some point, so he runs it over his chest, too. It's stronger at the tip than it is down the side, which he discovers pretty much by accident when the tip catches his right nipple and that, that's nice, that's very nice.

He wets his lips and looks down to try it again – it's nice even though the fabric of his tee, makes the muscles in his thighs tighten, doesn't quite get him hard. 

He tries the other one but it's not as sensitive, doesn't work as well, so he goes back to the right and, on a whim, hitches the hem of his tee up, holds it under his chin and tries again. He tries, because he doesn't allow himself this usually, to let his body do what it wants.

If it's going to be good, he wants to enjoy it. So when it feels like his mouth wants to open, he lets it, breathes like that for a moment or five as he pushes against the little raised nub of flesh and then looks around to make sure he's got everything he needs. 

He leans on the hand with the vibrator, using that arm it for leverage as it hums against the bedclothes, and he manages to open the drawer in the nightstand with the tips of the finger of his other hand. 

Tissues, condoms, lube, he closes the drawer and lies down on the bed instead. 

He sits up again to take off his shirt and then lies back down.

He sits up to take off his socks, looks down at himself, decides he definitely means it this time and lies back down. 

He wiggles his hips on the bedclothes to get comfortable, wiggles his shoulders against the pillow, wiggles a little more because Nat says the jeans look nice but they have killer thick seams and those things hurt where they dig into his thighs.

He pops the button on his jeans because, okay, now he is starting to get really hard enough to do something about it (he wonders how long the batteries will last – doesn't matter, he's got another six in a grocery bag in the kitchen) and these jeans look good because they're _tight_ so he's running out of room.

He doesn't need to lose the pants yet, doesn't need to slide the zipper, but he props his head up on the pillow and looks down at the speckled line of gold rising up under the flap of denim where his dick presses up against it.

He tries it on a whim, just presses the edge of the vibrator to the gold line and-

“Uhn,” he says, surprised by the sound but it's, yeah, okay, that's...

He flexes his hips a little, tries it again and listens to the little clicking noise as he runs the tip slowly up the line of his zipper. He can feel his eyebrows draw together as he gets further up and, right around the moment it gets near the head – it's a muted kind of buzz that sets all the seams vibrating – his hips kick up and he makes another noise like the one before and, yeah, he can see the benefit of this.

He can tell, right now, from the weird way the soft buzzing spreads all the way around his waistband and all the way down his inseam, that this won't last long once he gets his clothes out of the way. Somebody, and Steve doesn't have the brainpower right now to remember which of them it was, told him stretching is careful because _the skin is delicate and stretching is important and_ blah blah obviously Steve's never done a damned thing by himself but get embarrassed by his own erection or something?

No. Come on. Steve had done enough with Vaseline, by himself, by _basic,_ to know he liked fingers, and to know the best position to take advantage of it. Still, but he's pretty sure he'll get nowhere near insertion once his boxers are off. 

He presses a little harder, sucks his lower lip into his mouth and rolls his hips up because he wants to – it feels like he needs to, and that's usually a sign that he should. 

It feels good to follow the urge, feels good to stop trying to force his hips down, but the movement dislodges the tip from the zipper and, even though it's not all that important, the only way he can sort of rectify the problem is by holding the thing with the tip against the flap of his fly, so that the denim catches it, and that's not gonna work long.

He presses the tip in hard, right near the top of his fly, and it's enough vibration that he can feel it more strongly against his frenulum. He doesn't have to test - he knows his own favourite places, so he lets his hips snap up once or twice to dispel the tension in the base of his spine, and then he lifts the thing and looks at it, transfers it to the other hand to check the numbness in his fingertips. It's strange, but he didn't notice how the entire top half of his jeans were vibrating until there's no vibration travelling through any more.

It leaves him feeling bold and self-conscious all at once, and he turns it over so that the tip is pointing down, and slides it into his pants under the waistband.

It's different to have it buzzing against his iliac crest, and he nudges it sideways little by little until the sound changes, until it's touching his dick through his boxers and-

“ _Oh!_ ” he says, and it's quiet but it feels punched out of him. “ _Ohh..._ ”

He closes his eyes and tips his head back and lets his hips roll up – this is better, this is better, and he wiggles it slightly to make sure he's making as much contact through the fabric as he can.

For a while, he does his best to slow his breathing and just enjoy it – if he concentrates hard enough, he can stave off getting worked up too quickly.

It's good though, and he lets his mouth fall open on the moan his lungs want to make, lets his hips flex up and bares his teeth as he hisses through them because the rational part of his mind knew this: rolling his hips up when he was holding it, so that he was just following the movement, was good. Rolling his hips up and getting no variation in intensity or, more importantly, dropping them back to the mattress and getting no relief at all, is a little different.

His breath catches in his chest, and he's made noise before he realizes.

“Ah, ah, _ah!_ ” 

He likes this, likes this a whole lot, and he rides the wave of too-much for as long as he can when he finds out he doesn't have to hold it.

Hands-free, he grabs at the bedclothes instead, taking a deep breath to moan when he doesn't get a break from it, head back, and he circles his hips just to try and ease it, laughs helplessly when it doesn't work.

He ought to get a smaller one – he's no stranger to the internet and there are ways, he knows, of strapping something small and buzzing to _just_ the right place.

“Ha- _oh, fu-_ ”

His hips stutter upward and the next groan he gives stutters too, and he could come like this, he could absolutely come like this.

It's hard not to, actually, hard to make himself take the thing out of his pants – he does it, but he doesn't want to, and that's one to remember next time.

Instead what the does is he turns the thing off and puts it down on the bed, and then he drags his zipper down and pulls his dick out of his boxers. He strokes once, twice, just to disperse a little of the sensitivity and then lets it be for a second, leaning over the cotton of his boxers because it's not soft enough to lie.

He looks down at it – it's glistening at the tip – and he rubs his fingertip over his frenulum.

“Hi,” he says, still a little out of breath. 

He'll try insertion next time too, if he can hold out long enough but, for now, he just picks up the vibrator and turns it back on.

He holds the very tip of it over his dick and tries to figure out whether he wants to go all the way first, or work up to it. He figures he may just come right now if he starts too strong, so he settles for rubbing it down at the base of his cock and-

“Fuck,” he's gonna come pretty fast anyway.

He holds his dick upright with his left hand, tries different things with the right and, yeah, okay, he could have guessed running the thing around the head was going to be awesome but it's still enough that he's got to take his hand away a second later. 

It's a sharp kind of pleasure, something that's too much - it's not like he couldn't take it, it's just that it'd be over too fast.

So he considers it carefully – it's not like he can't come again if he feels like it. Maybe that'd be a fun game to play with somebody; how many until he can't, especially if he's got something strapped to his dick to force it out of him?

He tries the slit and that's as weird as it is good, makes the vibrations travel all the way down his cock and he snorts when he feels everything clench without meaning to do it.

There's a lot that he likes, but he figures he'd be better with the vibrator on his frenulum – he prefers his thumb over the slit. 

He switches the vibrator off, and holds it flat against his dick in his right fist, the tip pressed snug up against the head, right over his frenulum. He breathes out a couple of times, nice and slow as he spreads precome over the head with the pad of his thumb in slow circles, and clicks the little switch on the-

“Ho- _oly-”_

His back bows and his toes curl, and he holds on because everything locks up in the space of about three seconds. It's nothing he's ever had the fortune to feel before, and he's glad he's alone in the place because he chokes for five seconds, maybe ten and then, as soon as he manages to get air into his lungs, he half kind of shouts and grits his teeth.

Pleasure slams into him, stomach first like a punch and then his dick, and his hips snap up once, twice, he has to be careful not to slip and he's so _close_ , its so much and it's so _fast!_

He makes it about another ten seconds before his brain remembers there's more than one setting and he figures he's got maybe twenty seconds until he comes but he might as well go all out if he's going all out – he clicks the button again and doesn't recognise the noise he makes. 

He opens his mouth as his face screws up, fills his lungs and _keens_ as he comes all over his stomach but it is, without a doubt, the best orgasm Steve's had in his life. 

It's like it's trying to turn him inside out, come pulsing hot and sticky in thick wet stripes up his abs and he kind of can't believe this is happening – every muscle in his pelvis is either fluttering or clenching and it's like something's reached down his dick and grabbed his prostate and he can't even cuss, he doesn't have the breath and it's too _much_ -

He has to let go eventually – it starts to get painful in seconds, the sharp razor edge of please-stop and the hard clench of his abs that'll turn into a cramp if he doesn't quit soon (but that might be another thing he can run by a partner, he'll wonder later how far he can push) – and he slams the vibrator down into the bedclothes as he comes down, holding the button to make the thing switch off. 

And then he lies there and stares at the ceiling for a little bit as his whole body relaxes.

His stomach aches, his thighs ache, and his ass is still clenching by itself.

“Wow,” he mutters.

He looks down at his dick, which is half hard and wet and red at the tip. He starts looking around for his t-shirt to wipe off with. He'll do laundry tomorrow.

Right now? He kind of feels like a nap.


End file.
